"I also believe that whatever degree of creative talent I possess was not earned but was given to me by a power outside myself, for a specific purpose, one that has little to do with my own life...The previous statement is one of fact and not meant to be a description of virtue. I believe creativity is a votive gift, presented arbitrarily by the hand of God, and those who possess it are simply its vessel. Those who become grandiose and vain about its presence in their lives usually see it taken from them and given to someone else. At least that has been my experience."
In the same article I pulled that from, I came across this line: "Ernest Hemingway said a writer must have the probity of a priest of God."
Why all this pretentious blather? Because I am bemoaning my inability to capture the wonder of this evening. I went to buy a trailer, and I may have made a most unlikely buddy.
Longtime readers of this blog (which is about three weeks now) will know that I'm trying to make ends meet by offering my services as a mover after my regular work hours. In one of the comboxes, "Ed" talked me out of buying a new truck and suggested that I get a trailer, which would almost double my hauling capacity. After some reflection, I realized he was right. For just a few hundred dollars (as opposed to several thousand dollars, which is what a new truck would have cost me), I would be in a much better place financially.
So, I cruised Craigslist, that wonderful nexus of needs, and I found three possibilities. In the end, the best deal was a trailer for sale by a man coincidentally (providentially?) named Ed.
I made my offer, he countered, I asked him some questions about it via e-mail, he answered them promptly. I made up my mind to buy it, and so me and the wife headed out to Waldorf, Maryland to pick it up.
Ed was nothing like I expected. In fact, I hadn't given much thought about what to expect. Suffice it to say this man would probably intimidate the ladies of polite society.
It was a dark and stormy night, so my first impression was of a werewolf in a Harley Davidson hat. As it turned out, his hat didn't have anything to do with Harley Davidson, but it did say "Operation Iraqi Freedom Veteran" on it. He had a thick reddish-blond beard and the same color of flowing hair coming out from under the hat. He wasn't any taller than me, but he had a bigger frame that gave the impression of a much larger man.
When we shook hands I realized this was a man of power. As it turns out, he's a "welder by trade." It was a phrase I heard several times tonight. It's obviously a source of great pride for him. After seeing some of his creations later, I could see why.
We wired up the trailer to my truck, but then discovered that the ball hitch I'd just bought today was too big. So, me and Ed cruised over to Wal-Mart to get the right-sized ball. (Yes, yes, I know, my ball was too big...) I left Grace with Ed's wife, a much younger-looking woman Grace originally thought was his daughter. I felt bad about that--after all, Grace hadn't intended on socializing tonight--but I figured it would be good for her. Lately we've been extremely isolated due to our real estate ambitions, and impromptu social situations like that are usually a good thing. (It's late and I may not be making much sense. Ask me about it later).
On the way to Wal-Mart, I got Ed's "life story," as he said. Divorced twice, one wife cheated on him, took all his money, and he adopted her three sons after her husband killed himself. Ed had served in Iraq, basically welding anything that needed welding. With his third wife...what'shername...he married her in the place they met--a biker bar not far from Waldorf.
I could tell from the bumper stickers on his Ford F150 that he was a Christian, ("Real Men Love Jesus"), but I was surprised to find out that he was Catholic. It's a topic for another post, or maybe for another blog, but in my experience most blue collar Christian types tend to be some form of Evangelical Protestant. Not Ed--he attends the oldest continually operational Catholic church in the country. Immediately I felt a bond with him, and not just because we attend the oldest Catholic church in Virginia.
We got a lot of time to chat because after I paid for the new ball hitch at Wal-Mart, I left the bag containing said ball hitch at the checkout counter. I'd gotten a few other things, but somehow missed the bag containing the most important piece. So, after driving all the way back to his place, we still had to go back and pick it up.
Anyway, we finally got everything we needed. We went back to his shop to switch out the balls, (I know, heh heh--grow up). His shop was full of welded steel wonders. There was plenty of sculpture, but there were a few ingenious items like a beer holder that spiked into the ground. "Perfect for horseshoes," he said. Indeed--as soon as I get a yard, I'm going to buy a bunch of those from him.
Once we got the trailer hooked up and operational, we finally went back into the house. I was worried about Grace. She's a tough girl, but in some ways, very delicate. By the time we made it back to Ed's house, I'd discerned that this was a man of certain characteristics. His place confirmed it--hardly any space was left in there that wasn't adorned with some welded creation or Harley Davidson paraphernalia.
Ed showed us his "game room" while his two pit bulls sniffed at our crotches and demanded attention. (And by the way, they were some of the most loving puppies I've ever seen). The game room consisted of a Ms. Pac-Man game, a foosball table, a pool table, and of course, a bar. Originally from Cincinnati, there was of course a wall dedicated to the Bengals. But for the most part, everything was covered in Harley and Iraq War decor.
But the furniture was amazing. Not only did he have a wood stove he made himself, but he also had several tables and chairs made of gigantic gears, chains, and Harley motorcycle seats. "See this chair?" he said, "I've got a 300 lb buddy who stood on the footrest and it didn't even break. I don't trust anybody's welding but my own."
Indeed.
The four of us--six, if you include the pit bulls--drank Diet Cokes and talked politics, crime, religion, welding and real estate for about half an hour. I didn't know this man from Adam, but let me tell you something, this guy is truly a child of God. Not that I'm particularly Godly, but I felt a kinship with this stranger that I have never felt with the crisp-suited denizens of Capitol Hill that I dwell among.
He invited us up to hang out at his place sometime. "Come on up anytime. We have bonfires and beer." Without a doubt, I'll be there. It'd be a damn shame to lose track of this fascinating man.
P.S. the trailer is very cool.
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